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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083215">whatever the world says, let them say it</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/laallomri/pseuds/laallomri'>laallomri</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>klance oneshot collections [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Birthday, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Rating for Language, extrasolar zine, leakira - Freeform, oneshots, proposal, table of contents in chapter one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:34:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/laallomri/pseuds/laallomri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are we really that interesting?” Keith asks, glancing at the fading light. “We’re just standing by the drink table.”</p><p>Lance slams the cup down on the table. “You’re right!” he declares. “We gotta do something for them to take <i>real</i> pictures of.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s dance.”</p><p>Keith’s heart thuds.</p><p>“I don’t—I don’t really dance,” he stammers.</p><p>“Come on, it’s not hard! You just spin!” Lance smiles, more gentle than his usual ones. “Just one? It’ll be short. We don’t even have to do a whole song.”</p><p> </p><p>my piece for extrasolar zine + a few random oneshots from tumblr/twitter</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Lance (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>klance oneshot collections [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1240697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>229</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. table of contents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is my piece for extrasolar zine, as well as some random oneshots that I posted to tumblr/twitter ages ago and am posting here to save them</p><p>not a self-deprecation or a fish for compliments but these were written a long time ago so they don’t match my recent writing quality/standard so if they seem Off that’s why</p><p>lance has brown eyes bc my brain is big and my meat is huge</p><p>collection title is a lyric from Arey Pyaar Kar Le from the movie Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>chapter one- table of contents</p><p>chapter two- my piece for extrasolar zine. the paladins attend a party on the planet of the merpeople, where keith and lance's interactions lead to an assumption about their relationship</p><p>chapter three- set in season one, on lance's first birthday on the castle ship away from home</p><p>chapter four- set after the war, on lance's birthday. keith draws on lance's arm and kinda sorta proposes to him</p><p>chapter five- leakira fake dating (don't roast me okay. or just. don't roast me too much)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. extrasolar zine piece</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my piece for <a href="https://extrasolarzine.tumblr.com/">extrasolar zine</a>. the paladins attend a party on the planet of the merpeople, where keith and lance's interactions lead to an assumption about their relationship. this has the dubious honor of being the only fic I've written with absolutely no heavy swearing. only hecks and quiznaks here</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>A modest celebration of the paladins’ victory over the baku</em>, the mermaid queen said. <em>A small gesture of our thanks</em>, the mermaid queen said.<br/> <br/>This, Keith thinks, as he looks wide-eyed around the humongous air-bubble dome, is not modest. Not modest, and definitely not a small gesture.<br/> <br/><em>This</em> is quiznaking ridiculous.<br/> <br/>The dome covers an area the size of a football field, which is packed with hundreds of merpeople. Keith isn’t sure how the dome is made—maybe a special kind of coral bubble or some new advancement in mer-science—but he certainly appreciates it, since it lets the paladins breathe without sacrificing the floaty quality of moving in water. <br/> <br/>The DJ booth at the far end of the dome is manned by an octopus, who’s scratching eight different records at once. The result is the weirdest music Keith has ever heard; it sounds like someone rapping in mer-tongue over classical orchestra.<br/> <br/>The dance floor in the center of the dome is lined with sparkly seaweed, surrounded by dozens of small shiny creatures that swim in rapid circles around the space. The motion creates a small whirlwind around the dance floor, which is necessary because of how mer-dances work. The merpeople twine their tails together, clasp each other’s shoulders, and then, aided by the whirlwind, they spin, spin and spin and spin, until it makes Keith dizzy to watch. <br/> <br/>The merpeople dancing with his fellow paladins twine their tails around their legs instead, which is why Keith is hovering by the refreshments table, drinking too much green soda. The dancing looks more fun than other kinds that he’s seen, but he doesn’t want to get so close to a stranger, and the only person he’s okay being close to is currently spinning in circles with a buff merman who Keith is definitely not jealous of. He’s not. He’s <em>not</em>.<br/> <br/>One of the rap-classical songs ends. Lance pulls away from the buff merman. He bows, flailing to keep his balance after so much spinning, then turns and floats over to the refreshments table. His face is lit up in the way it does when he’s been socializing for a while, brightened further by the gold glitter scattered over the freckles on his nose and cheeks. The glitter matches his outfit; he’s wearing the bodysuit from his armor, with gold gauze wrapped around his legs like parachute pants and a thick belt made of dark red seaweed circling his waist. It suits him well, the gold complementing his brown skin and the bodysuit stretching over his broad shoulders in a way that’s—distracting.<br/> <br/>Lance looks over the array of bottles. He pouts.<br/> <br/>“Aw, man,” he says. “I was hoping there’d be some of the green stuff left.”<br/> <br/>“They’ll probably bring refills soon,” Keith says. He holds out his cup. “You can have some of mine.”<br/> <br/>“Thanks,” Lance says. <br/> <br/>He takes the cup and sips from it. Somewhere to Keith’s left is a white flash.<br/> <br/>“What <em>are</em> those?” Lance asks, frowning in its direction. “They’ve been flashing all evening.”<br/> <br/>“They send information to the energy beacon,” Keith says, pointing to the huge clam just outside the dome. “So people elsewhere can know how the party’s going.”<br/> <br/>“Ohh, so we’re on space TMZ now.” Lance waves at the fading flash. “Hello, citizens of space! You’ve just witnessed Loverboy Lance drinking some fantastic green soda.” He winks and shoots a finger gun. “Stay classy.”<br/> <br/>Keith snorts.<br/> <br/>“Hey!” Lance squints at him. “What are you implying?”<br/> <br/>Keith shakes his head and takes his cup back. He takes a sip. Another flash to his left. “Finger guns aren’t exactly classy.”<br/> <br/>“How dare you,” Lance says indignantly. He takes the cup from Keith. “Finger guns are the height of class.”<br/> <br/>He takes a sip. Yet another flash.<br/> <br/>“Are we really that interesting?” Keith asks, glancing at the fading light. “We’re just standing by the drink table.”<br/> <br/>Lance slams the cup down on the table. “You’re right!” he declares. “We gotta do something for them to take <em>real</em> pictures of.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s dance.”<br/> <br/>Keith’s heart thuds.<br/> <br/>“I don’t—I don’t really dance,” he stammers.<br/> <br/>“Come on, it’s not hard! You just spin!” Lance smiles, more gentle than his usual ones. “Just one? It’ll be short. We don’t even have to do a whole song.”<br/> <br/>Keith takes a breath, then nods. He puts his hand in Lance’s, doing his best to ignore how the feel of it makes his stomach flip, and follows him to the edge of the dance floor.<br/> <br/>“Okay,” Lance says. “Since we don’t have tails, we’ll have to squish together.”<br/> <br/>He tugs on Keith’s hand to pull him close.<br/> <br/>(<em>close</em>, Keith’s mind whispers. <em>close close so close</em>—)<br/> <br/>They’re pressed together, chests hips legs, so close that Keith can feel Lance’s warmth through his shirt, so close that he can see how long his eyelashes are, see the freckles beneath the gold glitter—<br/> <br/>He takes a deep breath.<br/> <br/>“I can feel you breathing!” Lance says, beaming, and holy heck Keith is going to combust—<br/> <br/>There’s a white flash to his right, bringing him back to where he is. He clears his throat and puts his hands on Lance’s shoulders. Lance does the same to him. The action makes him feel much closer, and Keith has to take another breath again, steady himself against the renewed flush threatening to spread along his neck.<br/> <br/>“Here we go!” Lance says. “One, two, three—spin!”<br/> <br/>Keith’s stomach swoops. The spinning is much faster than it looks, so fast it almost feels like he’s flying. Then Lance laughs, delighted, and the sound of it makes Keith <em>certain</em> that he’s flying. <br/> <br/>They spin a second time, a third, round and round and round, until Keith loses count, until he feels dizzy, though he doesn’t know if it’s because of the spinning or because of how <em>close</em> Lance is, close close closer with each spin, until somehow—somehow their foreheads are pressed together too, and they stop spinning, and they’re just standing there, and Keith has to close his eyes, because—<br/> <br/>—because when he opens them he looks right at Lance, looks and looks and looks, looks at eyes so big and so bright, and it feels like everything around them is suspended in time, like everything has slowed to a stop, so it’s just Lance’s eyes and Lance’s hands and <em>Lance</em>, and it feels like Keith’s heart has stopped too, or maybe it’s just going so fast that it feels like it has, trip trip tripping along as if it’s trying to burst out of his chest—<br/> <br/>Lance chuckles, though it’s more like a huff of air.<br/> <br/>“There’s glitter on your Galra mark,” he says, very softly.<br/> <br/>Keith opens his mouth to respond, though he doesn’t even know what he wants to say—but then he freezes, because Lance cups his cheek, and his thumb brushes gently at Keith’s Galra mark, and their foreheads are still pressed together, and Lance is still smiling, and the curve of it sends warmth curling through Keith, and he can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or happy or shy or—or in—<br/> <br/>There’s a flash of white light to Keith’s left.<br/> <br/>Keith blinks. He pulls back, though he doesn’t let go of Lance’s shoulders. Lance blinks too, and for a heart-stopping moment Keith thinks that he looks disappointed, but then he just glances at the fading light with a frown.<br/> <br/>“No respect,” he says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “We were having a bonding moment, you TMZ heathens.”<br/> <br/>For a second Keith wants to laugh, but then—<br/> <br/>“Wait,” he says, scowling, “what—”<br/> <br/>“Not now, mullet!” Lance interrupts. He sounds casual, but Keith can see his ears reddening. “We’re at a party! No time for heartfelt discussions or dramatic confessions!”<br/> <br/>(<em>confessions</em>¸ Keith’s mind whispers, sly and hopeful at the same time. <em>confessions</em>—)<br/> <br/>He tells it to shut up. He’s done enough almost-blushing for one evening.<br/> <br/>“The song’s almost over,” he says instead, because as much as he wants to interrogate Lance, he doesn’t want to do it in front of hundreds of merpeople.<br/> <br/>“Then we’d better get spinning,” Lance says, sounding relieved that Keith changed the subject.<br/> <br/>He puts his hand back on Keith’s shoulder. They spin a few more times, then stop as the last notes of the song fade away. They let go of each other, then hang onto each other’s hands as they realize they’re too dizzy to float upright on their own.<br/> <br/>“That was fun,” Keith says, smiling.<br/> <br/>“Yeah,” Lance says. He looks at the couples around them, who are pulling apart and bowing. “Oh wait, we’re not done yet! We gotta bow, too. Be classy and all that.”<br/> <br/>“I don’t know if I can move without flipping over,” Keith admits.<br/> <br/>Lance looks round again. “Some of the merpeople aren’t bowing,” he says, nodding his head towards a couple to Keith’s right. “See?”<br/> <br/>The mermaid takes her partner’s hand, brings it to her lips, and kisses it.<br/> <br/>“Loophole!” Lance says, grinning, then, before Keith can react, he pulls Keith’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it.<br/> <br/>Keith stiffens, too overwhelmed by the fluttering in the pit of his stomach to speak. He’s only barely aware of the white flash to his left. <br/> <br/>Lance must have felt him freeze, because he drops Keith’s hand almost immediately.<br/> <br/>“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding worried. “I should have asked first, sorry—”<br/> <br/>“No, it’s okay,” Keith interrupts, too quickly. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t—dislike it.”<br/> <br/>For a long moment they just look at each other.<br/> <br/>“Cool,” Lance says finally. He sounds almost shy. “Do you wanna see if they refilled the green soda yet?”<br/> <br/>Keith nods and they head back to the refreshments. As Lance pours out a cup of green soda, a large mer swims over to them, beaming.<br/> <br/>“Congrats, dudes!” they say, in the most surfer-bro voice Keith has ever heard. “I didn’t know you two were dating.”<br/> <br/>Keith’s stomach swoops. Lance makes a weird noise and knocks over the soda cup.<br/> <br/>“We’re not—” Keith glances at Lance, who looks as startled and flustered as Keith feels. “We’re not—”<br/> <br/>“Dating,” Lance supplies. He rights the soda cup and grabs a few napkins to blot the spilled drink, frowning at the mer. “I don’t know where you got your information from, but you’re mistaken.”<br/> <br/>“You sure, bro?” the mer asks, one eyebrow raised. “It’s all over the news.”<br/> <br/>“The <em>what</em>?” Keith asks.<br/> <br/>The mer pulls a tablet out from a pouch around their waist and pulls up what looks like a celebrity gossip site. There’s a string of blocky letters in mer-tongue taking up the whole page.<br/> <br/>“The headline says ‘Klance confirmed!’” the mer translates. “Here are the pictures.”<br/> <br/>They swipe. The ensuing page is full of photos of Keith and Lance. Shots of them passing the drink back and forth, of them pressed together before dancing, of them with their foreheads leaned against each other, of Lance’s hand cupping Keith’s cheek as Keith’s hands rest on his shoulders—<br/> <br/>“Oh my god,” Lance says. Keith vehemently agrees. “These are taken out of context!”<br/> <br/>“There’s nothing out of context about this one, dude,” the mer says, swiping. The photo that comes up is the one of Lance kissing Keith’s hand. Keith is appalled by his own expression; he looks positively lovesick, like a character in a sappy movie. “Only couples kiss hands instead of bow after a dance.”<br/> <br/>Lance looks up from the screen. Keith stares at him dumbly.<br/> <br/>“Oh,” Lance says, and Keith doesn’t know if his heart is sinking or soaring or some odd mix of both. “Oh <em>no</em>.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. birthday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>set in season one, on lance's first birthday on the castle ship away from home</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day they return to the castle ship after being separated by the wormhole, Pidge and Hunk decide to find a way to configure earth time from the space measurements. <br/> <br/>“It’ll be good to know so we can track how long everyone at home has been missing us and how we’ll age,” Pidge says, tapping rapidly at her computer. “Plus it’s just annoying to not know.” <br/> <br/>It takes a while for them to figure it out, so by the time they do so, they’ve been up in space for—<br/> <br/>“Twenty-eight days!” Pidge announces, holding up the tablet with the calendar on it with a proud expression. <br/> <br/>“We might be off a little,” Hunk adds, “but by no more than a few hours.”<br/> <br/>“So it’s already July,” Shiro says.<br/> <br/>“What is a ‘July’?” Allura asks.<br/> <br/>Shiro starts to explain the Gregorian calendar to her (“no,” he says patiently as Coran jumps in, “not the King Groggery calendar. <em>Gregorian</em> calendar”). and Pidge and Hunk bend their heads over the tablet and mutter about schematics. Keith looks at Lance, who hasn’t spoken since Pidge’s announcement. He’s standing very still, hands in his pockets, shoulders a bit hunched.<br/> <br/>“Are you—” Keith clears his throat. “Are you okay?”<br/> <br/>Lance jumps. He blinks at Keith as if he hadn’t realized he was standing there.<br/> <br/>“’Course I am, mullet,” he says, cheerful and annoying as always. “Better than you’ll ever be.”<br/> <br/>Keith knows he should roll his eyes, but Lance’s grin seems—off—so he just crosses his arms and leaves it at that.<br/> <br/>Leaves it at that, until a few days later, when he’s sitting in the lounge reading a book from the tiny library Coran showed to him. He’s just getting to the good part—the heroes have been captured and are in the middle of their escape plan—when the mice scamper into the room and—and fucking <em>run up his leg</em>, what the fuck—<br/> <br/>“What—” Keith drops the book, wriggling as two of the mice cling to the top of his boot and the other two continue up to settle on his knee. “What the hell are you doing?”<br/> <br/>They dance around. Or maybe it’s gymnastics? Or they’re having some kind of fit.<br/> <br/>“I have no idea what you’re saying,” he says.<br/> <br/>He didn’t think mice could sigh, but he’s pretty sure one of them sighs. A second later the same mouse ruffles up his hair, smirks, takes his tail in one hand, and twirls it.<br/> <br/>“Lance?” Keith guesses.<br/> <br/>The mouse nods. A different mouse holds out her arms in front of her, as if carrying something. The first mouse leans over the imaginary cargo and—blows on it?<br/> <br/>“What?”<br/> <br/>The first mouse smacks his paw against his forehead. He tugs on Keith’s hand, then runs down Keith’s leg along with the other three. They head to the door, stopping to glance back at him. <br/> <br/>“Oh, you want me to…okay.”<br/> <br/>Keith follows them out of the room. They go down the hall, another hall, around a corner, and into the kitchen. Lance is sitting at the table, eating a bowl of food goo and scrolling through his tablet. He looks up as Keith and the mice enter.<br/> <br/>“Oh hey,” he says, smiling, and it’s only the alarmed squeaking of the mice that keeps Keith from tripping over them, because the force of Lance’s smile directed at him is—overwhelming—and he’s not sure why it’s overwhelming—and then he thinks he might know why—and—and wait, <em>fuck</em>—<br/> <br/>Lance is frowning now, as the mice do their dance-gymnastic-fit routine again, this time towards him.<br/> <br/>“You shouldn’t have told anyone,” he says, which shakes Keith out of his growing panic.<br/> <br/>“Told anyone what?” he asks. He approaches the table; he still feels too rattled to risk sitting across from Lance, so he leans against the counter instead, crossing his arms as if they’ll keep his feelings inside. “I couldn’t understand them.”<br/> <br/>“Good,” Lance says, returning to his food goo with suspicious intensity. “They were snitching anyway.”<br/> <br/>One of the mice stomps his paw and scowls. Keith has a feeling that’s probably the mouse who pretends to be him when they snitch on everyone to Allura.<br/> <br/>“Is everything okay?” he asks.<br/> <br/>“Yeah,” Lance says, and it reminds him of Lance’s grin a few days ago, how it felt off—he sounds too abrupt, like he’s forcing it. If they were better friends Keith might be able to figure out what’s wrong, or would have the right to pry, but they—aren’t friends—and the disappointment he feels at that makes him feel almost as panicky as his reaction to Lance’s smile.<br/> <br/>He swallows everything down and uncrosses his arms.<br/> <br/>“Do you want to do something?” he asks. “Play a game, maybe?”<br/> <br/>Lance stares at him.<br/> <br/>“Coran showed me the library a while ago and there are some board games in there,” Keith goes on, refusing to let Lance’s astonished expression make him chicken out. “We could try one out.”<br/> <br/>Lance stares at him for a moment longer, then grins. He gets up.<br/> <br/>“I’m gonna wipe the floor with you,” he says, putting his bowl in the sink.<br/> <br/>“We’ll see about that,” Keith says, rolling his eyes.<br/> <br/>He does wipe the floor with Keith; they decide to make up their own rules instead of use the translator to read the instructions, and it turns out Lance’s years of playing pretend with little nieces and nephews and cousins makes him really good at manipulating made-up rules, and he ends up winning eight of their eleven rounds of the game.<br/> <br/>But Keith doesn’t mind much, because Lance smiles and laughs the whole time, and as he lies down that night, half of him is reliving all those smiles and laughs and half of him is having a fucking meltdown that he’s thinking about this, and his mind wanders, thinks about how Lance’s smile is so much better than that weird forced grin from a few days ago, how him yelling <em>yeah</em> when he won is so much better than him saying <em>yeah</em> to pretend he’s okay, how—<br/> <br/>Keith sits up in bed. He frowns, sticks to that thought, thinks of the mice and their pantomime, thinks of the earth calendar and <em>so it’s already July</em>—<br/> <br/>His eyes widen. He jumps out of bed and out of his room, skids over to Lance’s door and pounds on it.<br/> <br/>A couple minutes later the door opens. Lance is in his robe and face mask, nose wrinkled with irritation.<br/> <br/>“<em>What</em>?” he demands. “This is quiet time. You’ll scare my pores.”<br/> <br/>“Today’s your birthday,” Keith says bluntly.<br/> <br/>Lance blinks.<br/> <br/>“The mice were pretending to blow out candles on a cake,” Keith goes on. “Today’s your birthday. Why didn’t you say anything?”<br/> <br/>“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Lance says, dryly, “but we’re in the middle of a war.”<br/> <br/>That—is probably a good point. But still—<br/> <br/>“We still could have done something,” Keith insists. “Made a—cake, or cookies, or whatever the fuck, I don’t know. But we could have done something, even if it was small.”<br/> <br/>(god knows he’s missed enough birthdays himself, in the time between his dad’s death and Shiro taking him in, when he was shuttled around foster homes and orphanages; he knows how much it sucks for the day to pass without acknowledgement, and he doesn’t want anyone to feel like that, not ever)<br/> <br/>“It’s fine,” Lance says, and his smile isn’t quite forced and it isn’t quite natural, but something in between, like he’s getting used to the idea of missing things. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”<br/> <br/>Keith presses his lips together. “Are you sure?”<br/> <br/>“Yeah.” Lance’s smile grows. “Besides, we did do something. We played that game and I destroyed you at it.”<br/> <br/>Keith rolls his eyes, though he has to bite back a smile. Lance snickers.<br/> <br/>“Really, it’s fine,” he says again. “But—” He looks suddenly bashful, and Keith might be imagining things, but he thinks Lance’s ears might be a bit red. “Thank you for being worried about it.”<br/> <br/>(something flutters in Keith’s stomach at the way he sounds, shy and soft, and he kind of wants to panic again)<br/> <br/>Instead he clears his throat. “No problem,” he says. He backs away a couple steps. “Anyway, I should leave you to your”—he waves a hand awkwardly at Lance’s face—“pores.”<br/> <br/>Lance snickers again. Keith’s face burns.<br/> <br/>“Good night,” he says, “and, um, happy birthday,” and without waiting for an answer he hurries back to his own room.<br/> <br/>(a week later they stop by a mining planet to collect supplies, and he finds an irregular shaped rock, deep blue shot through with silver, and he asks the alien assigned to guide them around the area if he can keep it)<br/> <br/>(the next morning he leaves it outside Lance’s door, with a note attached to it that says <em>happy birthday</em>)<br/> <br/>(he half forgets about it, until months and months and months later for the other paladins, until years later for him, until they’re stopping at a planet on their road trip back to earth, until the planet’s ruler lets them stay in their palace for the night, until they’re all told to empty their pockets for security to inspect at the gates, until Lance puts onto the table his phone, a folded up picture of his family, and—)<br/> <br/>(—and an irregular shaped rock, deep blue shot through with silver)<br/> <br/>(he looks at Lance, startled, and Lance’s ears are red, but he looks steadily back, and there’s—something—and Keith almost trips like he did all those months ago, and his stomach flutters like it did all those months ago, but this time he doesn’t panic, this time he doesn’t cross his arms to keep his feelings inside)<br/> <br/>(this time he smiles, and Lance smiles too, and Keith has a feeling that Lance’s next birthday will be one where he’ll have the right to give him something much better than a rock)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. proposal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>set after the war, on lance's birthday. keith draws on lance's arm and kinda sorta proposes to him. to be honest I think lance would bring up marriage first, not keith, but 1. this is just how this particular fic turned out and 2. my longer fic with more complex discussion of Life After The War is languishing unfinished and I don't know when/if I will complete it</p>
<p>warning for repeated mentions of characters eating/snacking and 2 mentions of insects (characters are watching a nature show)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s half past ten PM on July 28th, and Keith and Lance are sitting on the floor in front of the couch in their tiny apartment, watching Planet Earth.<br/> <br/>If Keith had his way, this is not how he and Lance would be celebrating Lance’s birthday. If Keith had his way they’d be at a giant party with Lance’s entire family and all their friends, even if it means Keith would use up his socializing quota for the next month.<br/> <br/>But there can’t be a giant party, because real life doesn’t stop for birthdays, even the birthdays of boyfriends as wonderful and fantastic and deserving as Lance is. So Keith settled for showing Lance all the presents their family and friends mailed in, and calling up everyone who didn’t already message Lance to remind them to do so, and spending the afternoon Skyping Lance’s mom so she can help him make Lance’s favorite dinner. <br/> <br/>After dinner they went for a long walk on the beach, alternating between holding hands and kicking sand at each other, until finally they got tired and decided to come back home, stopping along the way to buy a bunch of garlic knots and too many bags of candy. And now they’re here, watching Planet Earth, Lance sitting with his back against the bottom of the couch and Keith sitting in front of him and leaned against his chest, with Lance’s arm around his waist.<br/> <br/>(“Shouldn’t you be the little spoon?” Keith asked as they sat down. “It’s your birthday.”<br/> <br/>“Exactly,” Lance said, then, with a gleam in his eyes that should have warned Keith, “that’s why I want to be the big spoon, so I can take my birthday privileges, like—<em>this</em>!”<br/> <br/>He blew a raspberry in Keith’s neck, then another, then another, until Keith laughed so hard he snorted, until Lance knocked over their mountain of candy bags in his efforts to get a squirming Keith to stay still so he could blow more raspberries in his neck.)<br/> <br/>It’s been only a few minutes since then, contented silence interrupted only by the sounds of them eating and their occasional mimicry of David Attenborough’s voice. Keith puts his bag of M&amp;Ms on the coffee table next to his colorful pens. He bought several packs of them when they moved into this apartment a year ago, so he could leave a few around the space and always have a couple within reach. Drawing helps him when he feels lost or groundless; when he closes his eyes and forgets where he is, he grabs a pen and doodles on a scrap of paper, on a mug, on his hand, anything to calm him down and give him an anchor so he can remind himself that he is home, and safe, and okay.<br/> <br/>He doesn’t feel lost or groundless now, but he hasn’t drawn all day, so he uncaps the blue pen and pokes the arm Lance has wrapped around Keith’s waist. Lance drops a kiss to the side of Keith’s neck, just beside the tie of his ponytail, which Keith takes as agreement to draw.<br/> <br/>He makes a tiny pattern on Lance’s thumb, diamonds overlapping like snakeskin. Lance reaches into the bag of garlic knots with his free hand and takes one out; it smells good, so Keith tilts his head without stopping work on the pattern and Lance pops the garlic knot into Keith’s mouth, with an <em>ugh</em> at the weird insects zooming around on the screen.<br/> <br/>They continue like that for a while—Keith doodling, Lance alternating between feeding himself and feeding Keith while commenting on the creatures on screen. Keith huffs or snickers or says <em>what</em> whenever expected, though he keeps doodling, diamond patterns and stars and phrases in the Galra symbols that Krolia taught him during their time on the space whale, so many years ago: peace, happiness, love, friendship.<br/> <br/>Eventually he runs out of space on Lance’s arm. Lance pauses the episode.<br/> <br/>“Nice,” he says, stretching out his arm to admire Keith’s handiwork. “Do you want my other arm too?”<br/> <br/>“Yeah.”<br/> <br/>Lance moves the food over to his other side so he can eat with his decorated hand and leave the other one free for Keith to draw on. He resumes the show and Keith stares at Lance’s other hand, frowning a little. He thinks he should do something different this time, instead of just little doodles. He liked the symbols; maybe something like that? Though he’ll have to keep it simple, since Lance’s Galran isn’t very fluent.<br/> <br/><em>Happy birthday</em>, he writes in Galran symbols, running horizontally below Lance’s wrist.<br/> <br/><em>I love you</em>, he writes next, because even after all this time it’s still infinitely easier to write it than to say it. He’s said it aloud before, said it a thousand times, but somehow the permanence of writing it is still easier than the transience of saying it.<br/> <br/>“Oh my god,” Lance says, and when Keith looks up he sees his nose is wrinkled. “Do you see that ant? It’s all squashed. Gross.”<br/> <br/>The ant is indeed squashed. Keith glances at it, then back at Lance. Even with his nose wrinkled and his mouth full of the garlic knot he just took a bite of, he’s still stunning, all sharp jaw and firm mouth and pointy nose and curly hair. Keith thinks he could look at him forever.<br/> <br/><em>You are so handsome</em>, he adds beneath the last line on Lance’s arm, then, because at this angle he can see Lance’s long lashes, see how they frame eyes bright and brown, <em>Your eyes are beautiful</em>.<br/> <br/>He thinks of the raspberry kisses earlier, of laughing so hard he snorts, of the pleasant scrape of Lance’s scruff against Keith’s neck; thinks of waking up that morning, of seeing Lance’s face calm and open in sleep, illuminated by pale early sunlight.<br/> <br/><em>You make me happy</em>, he writes.<br/> <br/>He thinks of how Lance’s face lit up today whenever he got a birthday message from a friend or relative, of how his happiness made Keith feel lighter as well; thinks of the diplomatic meeting they went to last week to help Allura, of how he only had to look at Lance once for him to understand that he thought the other diplomat was full of shit; thinks of the conversation they had when they went to lunch with Shiro the other day, of how Lance said “hey did you tell him about the thing yet,” of how Keith said “the thing or the other thing,” of how Lance said “the other thing,” of how Keith told Shiro exactly what Lance meant, of how Shiro laughed, startled at how they somehow managed to communicate so vaguely; thinks of how well he and Lance know each other, like they are one soul put into two bodies, alike and different, apart and together, each their own person but so in tune they might as well be one.<br/> <br/><em>You are my favorite person</em>.<br/> <br/>He looks at Lance again. The episode has ended, moved on to the one about oceans, and Lance’s expression as the whales come on screen is one of pure delight. He feels Keith’s eyes on him.<br/> <br/>“You okay?” he asks.<br/> <br/>“Yeah,” Keith says. He kisses Lance’s cheek, once twice thrice, tiny kisses for the tiny freckles dotting his skin. Lance smiles, his dimple flashing, then goes back to watching the whales.<br/> <br/>There isn’t much space left on Lance’s arm. He’d probably let Keith draw on his leg, too, or shift so he could draw on his upper arms—it’s absurdly hot tonight, so they’re both wearing basketball shorts and tank tops anyway—but for some reason Keith feels like this last bit of space should count, should be the final space to be filled for now.<br/> <br/>There’s dramatic music onscreen as a baby whale swims through the waves. Lance coos at it. <br/> <br/>“I wish you could have pet whales,” he says. “I want a whale. Then I could ride him around in the ocean.”<br/> <br/>“You already have a lion,” Keith reminds him, still pondering the empty space on Lance’s arm.<br/> <br/>“That’s for space,” Lance explains. “I want a cool animal for the ocean, too.”<br/> <br/>“Our lions can go in water.”<br/> <br/>“<em>Okay</em>, Mr Mansplainer,” Lance says, and Keith doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he sounds fond. “I still think a whale would be cool. Or a dolphin.” He gasps, as if just now remembering something. “No! Forget all that. I want a shark.”<br/> <br/>“You’re not very faithful to your pets,” Keith says, amused.<br/> <br/>“My love is fickle,” Lance says solemnly, then grins, suddenly, like a light being turned on in a dark room. “Except my love for you.”<br/> <br/>“Corny,” Keith says, though he smiles too. “What kind of shark would you want?”<br/> <br/>“Hm, well…”<br/> <br/>Lance launches into a detailed comparison of all the sharks he knows, both earth and alien, rattles off facts and experiences in aquariums and his own personal opinions (apparently hammerheads are “not appreciated enough, Keith!! They’re so cool!! But everyone thinks they’re dumb cause of the way they look, which is <em>discrimination</em>!”). He’s done this before, but Keith loves it every time anyway and always makes sure to listen. He puts down his pen and pauses the show so Lance knows for sure that Keith’s attention isn’t anywhere else.<br/> <br/>Lance is in the middle of talking about great white sharks when it happens. His face is bright and expressive, his free hand moving around as he talks, and he’s so excited, and he’s talking about how the most dangerous of the alien sharks they know of still isn’t anywhere near as deadly as a great white, and Keith has heard this a hundred times, but this time it feels—different—new, almost—though not new, not quite, not new but <em>like</em> new, like a familiar room that’s been repainted, or a favorite book he’s read after a long time, or an old recipe made by someone else’s hand.<br/> <br/>He blinks, unsure what it means, and then Lance reaches into the bag of M&amp;Ms on the coffee table, pops a couple into his mouth, takes out a few more, and despite Keith’s hands being free now that he’s capped the pen, Lance holds the candy to Keith’s mouth anyway and feeds them to him. Keith bites down on the candy, feels the sweetness burst over his tongue, watches Lance’s eyes and Lance’s mouth and Lance’s hand, moving through the air as he talks, and his heart jumps, and settles, and whispers, <em>I want to marry you</em>.<br/> <br/>He blinks again. He expects it to feel scary, overwhelming, but the sentence sinks into him, settles into his bones, spreads through him like cream poured into coffee, the cloud bursting through the dark liquid, sudden at first then more slowly, until it overtakes him so much he can’t think of anything else.<br/> <br/>He shakes out of it long enough to pay attention to the rest of Lance’s ramble, to respond every so often so he knows Keith is paying attention. Eventually Lance settles on wanting an alien shark species called saavmach for a pet, and Keith agrees with his choice, and they resume the ocean episode.<br/> <br/>Keith uncaps his pen and puts the tip to the empty space on Lance’s arm. He chews his lower lip for a second, closes his eyes, opens them, then writes his last sentence. He caps the pen once more and sets it on the table.<br/> <br/>“Done?” Lance asks. He glances at his arm, surprised. “Did you just write on this one?”<br/> <br/>“Yeah,” Keith says. His stomach flips. “I wrote some words on your other arm too, but I thought I’d practice full sentences.”<br/> <br/>Lance pauses the show and looks again at the first arm Keith had drawn on. <br/> <br/>“Peace, happiness, love, friendship,” he reads, then snickers. “Is that the Galran version of a Live Laugh Love sign?”<br/> <br/>Keith pokes his cheek, though the joke makes his stomach settle a little. It’ll be okay. They’ve been teammates for years, friends for years, boyfriends for years. They’ve survived battle and bickering and the chaos of cancelling a cable subscription. <br/> <br/>It’ll be okay.<br/> <br/>Lance is looking at his other arm. His brow furrows as he tries to read the longer sentences in Galran. Keith watches him; despite his efforts a moment ago his stomach twists nervously again.<br/> <br/>“Happy birthday?” Lance checks.<br/> <br/>Keith nods. Lance looks at the next sentence and smiles.<br/> <br/>“I love you too,” he says gently, then, grinning as he sees the next two lines, “Hell yeah I’m handsome! Though your eyes are prettier than mine.”<br/> <br/><em>Impossible</em>, Keith thinks, though out loud he says, “We can be tied on that one.”<br/> <br/>Lance read the next sentences. When he looks up his gaze is soft.<br/> <br/>“You make me happy too,” he says, then, cheekily, “but I think my favorite person is the guy who sells these garlic knots.”<br/> <br/>“That’s understandable,” Keith says, as seriously as he can manage, though he’s pretty sure Lance sees the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.<br/> <br/>Lance looks back at his arm. Keith watches, his heart in his throat, too afraid to breathe. He’s not even sure Lance will understand it. He’s not sure Lance has ever seen the word <em>marry</em> in Galran.<br/> <br/>It seems like he struggles with it. Keith is pretty sure he’s already read it a couple of times; he sees him mouth the words to himself, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s reading it right or not. Keith wants to say something, but he feels like he shouldn’t, feels like he needs to let this unfold, let Lance answer on his own. <br/> <br/>And then—<br/> <br/>—he feels Lance get very, very still—<br/> <br/>—feels him inhale and not exhale, feels him hold himself in place, as if any movement will change the symbols written on his skin.<br/> <br/>“Keith,” he says, and it’s a question, and a statement, and an answer.<br/> <br/>Keith looks at him, his heart thumping. Lance’s eyes are glittering.<br/> <br/>“Yes” is all Keith says, then, too quickly, “I mean—I know we’re still kind of young, but—” He takes a deep breath, slides his hand to twine his fingers with Lance’s. “I love you. I don’t want to wait. Though if you want then of course we can—we can have a long engagement or not tell anyone else for a while—”<br/> <br/>“I want to marry you too.”<br/> <br/>Keith opens his mouth, closes it.<br/> <br/>“I want to marry you too,” Lance says a second time, and his eyes are still glittering, and now he’s smiling smiling smiling so big that Keith’s heart can’t take it, and <em>oh</em>—<br/> <br/>They lean in at the same time, so eager they bump noses at first, laughing a little before finding each other’s mouths and kissing properly, soft and sweet.<br/> <br/>“I’m going to ask you officially sometime,” Keith says, when they break apart. <br/> <br/>“Not if I ask you first!” Lance says, with feigned belligerence. He narrows his eyes, though he’s smiling too much for it to have any real effect. “You better watch out, Kogane. I’m gonna kick your ass with this proposal.”<br/> <br/>“I’m sure you will,” Keith says, smirking, “when you tell me about what your plan was, after I’ve kicked <em>your</em> ass with <em>my</em> proposal.”<br/> <br/>Lance gasps dramatically, and Keith snickers, and then Lance surges forward and blows another raspberry into Keith’s neck, and Keith almost knocks his head against the coffee table trying to escape from him, and somehow that jostling of the table resumes the episode, so they both shriek as the show starts playing again seemingly of its own accord, then cackle as they realize what happened, until they’re tangled together on the floor, snort-giggling at how dumb they are.<br/> <br/>“Best birthday ever,” Lance whispers into Keith’s neck, still giggling.<br/> <br/>“I’m glad you liked it,” Keith says, and he wants to say more, wants to say <em>I love you so much</em> and <em>I’m so happy we’re gonna get married</em> and <em>I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you</em>, but then Lance blows yet <em>another</em> raspberry in his neck, so Keith has to cancel all the cheesy romantic crap he planned to say, because currently he needs to take revenge on his fiancé.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. leakira</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fake dating in the leakira AU (don't roast me okay. or just. don't roast me too much)</p>
<p>tw for brief mention of a character smoking and mentions of characters eating</p>
<p>if you don't know what leakira is, it's an AU of lance and keith (leandro and akira) that the fandom created after vld really started to drop in quality. the setting was generally cyberpunk and the names were chosen to more accurately reflect ethnic backgrounds (as opposed to white/english names). the idea was popularized by users kciths and captainlumin, tho I don't think either of them have accounts related to vld anymore, but tons of people made content for this AU</p>
<p>if you want to see more examples of what the fandom created, you can see art I reblogged in my <a href="https://laallomri.tumblr.com/tagged/leakira">leakira tag</a> and I did some headcanons for leggylance which you can find <a href="https://laallomri.tumblr.com/post/176995473242/paria-ruler-of-god-tier-headcanons-tell-us-about">here</a>. looking back it was kind of a dorky thing to just. make up a whole AU for the characters. but it was fun and harmless and in the end that's what matters</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s half past ten on a cold Tuesday night, one of the worst possible times for someone to be roaming the streets of Altea City, and Akira is speeding through downtown, on a bright red motorbike that practically screams <em>please attack me</em>.</p>
<p>In hindsight, bright red is not at all the color he should have painted his bike when he and his brother built it. But he likes red, and there’s something very thrilling and very <em>Akira</em> about inviting danger just for the sake of aesthetic, so he hasn’t repainted it, no matter how many times his brother’s boyfriend tells him he’d be safer if it were black.<br/> <br/>He zooms around a corner, down another street, and through an alley, until he reaches a smaller road lined with two-storey buildings on one side and a crappy park on the other. Akira parks the bike on the side by the park, in front of a bench covered in bird droppings and dried bubblegum. It’s a few feet from the only working streetlight, the neon green bulb flickering and making everything around Akira look like something out of a bad horror movie.<br/> <br/>He gets off the bike and leans against it, tucking his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. There’s a breeze tonight, so he tilts his head up to the blue-black sky and inhales deeply, lets the wind ruffle his ponytail and pass over his face, ridding him of any lingering weariness. It’s going to be a long night, and he needs to be as awake as possible.<br/> <br/>He looks round, trying to gauge his surroundings. It looks like this part of downtown isn’t visited much. There’s a club at the very end of the street; the music spilling from its doors is so loud it sounds like thumping rather than an actual song. Other than that there are only boarded up storefronts and large trashcans, backlit by the neon skyscrapers towering over all of downtown, the pink and purple and blue casting odd shadows and adding a melancholy glow in the background.<br/> <br/>Akira checks his phone. They said they’d meet at eleven, so he still has twenty minutes before Leandro shows up. He hadn’t meant to get here so early, but he was too restless to wait, impatient to get on his bike and feel the cold night air in his hair and get their job done—<br/> <br/>(—<em>and to see Leandro</em>, his mind whispers slyly)<br/> <br/>Akira scowls and dismisses the thought. He hasn’t seen him in two days, which is the longest they’ve been apart for a while, but it’s not like he misses him. That’d be dumb. It’d be dumb for this antsy, unsettled feeling to be because he hasn’t seen Leandro in two days, hasn’t seen glittering brown eyes and a sharp jaw and a smirk that makes heat curl low in his stomach—<br/> <br/>He twists his mouth, shakes his head as if that’ll clear it. He fishes in the pocket of his jeans, pulls out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter that he knows he shouldn’t carry but does anyway, takes out a cigarette and lights one. He takes a long drag, closes his eyes and blows out the smoke with a pleased sigh—<br/> <br/>—then squawks, his eyes flying open as the cigarette is ripped from his fingers. Leandro is in front of him, throwing the cigarette on the ground and crushing it beneath his boot.<br/> <br/>Akira gapes at him. “Where the hell did you come from?” he asks. “The street was fucking empty—”<br/> <br/>“I’m gone two days,” Leandro interrupts, frowning. “<em>Two days</em>. And you’re already back to this shit.”<br/> <br/>Akira sticks his hands back in his pockets. “I didn’t smoke the whole time you were gone,” he says, somewhere between sheepish and annoyed.<br/> <br/>“Oh, so you save your bad habits for when I’m around,” Leandro says dryly. “Thanks. That’s real considerate of you.”<br/> <br/>“I save them for then cause I know you’ll always stop me,” Akira mutters.<br/> <br/>Leandro opens his mouth, closes it.<br/> <br/>“We should go,” he says finally. “We’re early but it’ll be good to scout out the place ahead of time.”<br/> <br/>Akira nods and gets on the bike. Leandro follows suit, one arm winding around Akira’s waist to hold on. Akira ignores the thump in his chest and gets ready to go, when— <br/> <br/>“Wait.”<br/> <br/>Akira looks over his shoulder. There’s half a smile on Leandro’s face, a bit self-deprecating. His eyes flick down; Akira follows his line of sight, and sees that Leandro’s free hand is out, palm up. In it is a small white square, the sight of which makes Akira’s heart thump a second time.<br/> <br/>“You’re right,” Leandro says, as Akira takes the nicotine patch and wriggles half out of his jacket so he can slap it onto his upper arm, beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. “I’ll always stop you.”</p>
<p>.^.<br/> <br/>They make it to the diner without incident, though there is a brief scare at an intersection when one of the traffic lights starts flickering rapidly between colors. Akira grips the handlebars tighter, feels Leandro let go of him so he can reach for the pistols strapped to the sides of his legs. But the intersection remains empty, the traffic light flickering without actually summoning anything, so they keep going, though Leandro twists around to monitor the light as long as it’s still in sight.<br/> <br/>The diner is at the end of a mostly empty street. The electric lights above the door spell out MAMA JEAN’S in bright pink, though the second M keeps flickering. There’s a hair salon to the left of the diner and a dingy alley to the right. Before they go in Leandro walks over to the alley and peers into it.<br/> <br/>“Clear?” Akira asks.<br/> <br/>Leandro frowns. He peers into the alley for another moment, then whips out one of his pistols and shoots into the darkness.<br/> <br/>There’s a clang, a screech, a long growl—then silence. Leandro turns to him and grins.<br/> <br/>“Now it is,” he says, then lifts the pistol to his lips and pretends to blow smoke off it.  Akira rolls his eyes, though he smiles.<br/> <br/>“Let’s go, you doofus,” he says, and together they head inside.</p>
<p>.^.<br/> <br/>“Uh,” Leandro says under his breath, as soon as they’re through the door. “I think maybe they were expecting us.”<br/> <br/>Akira looks round the diner, his stomach jumping with growing adrenaline. The diner is much smaller on the inside, with peeling paint, booths lining the walls, and a large empty space in the middle that leads to a small counter in the front, where the bored-looking employee stands, scrolling through their phone. There are large panels on the wall behind the employee that display the menu, several chintzy chandelier-like lamps hanging from the ceiling, and, most alarmingly, several cloaked hulking figures sitting in the booths, all glaring at Leandro and Akira.<br/> <br/>“The drop’s not until eleven-thirty,” Akira mutters. “I don’t think they’ll do anything until then.”<br/> <br/>“Great,” Leandro says, and Akira can hear the eye roll in his voice. “The giant violent aliens won’t hurt us for another forty minutes. Good to know.”<br/> <br/>Akira elbows him. Leandro twists out of elbowing-distance and strides up to the counter, plastering a very big, very fake smile on his face.<br/> <br/>“Hi there!” he says cheerfully, as if there aren’t a dozen alien assassins lurking in the space behind him. “Me and my friend would like to order the, uh—” He pauses, peering at the menu panels as Akira hurries up the counter to join him. “Number six.”<br/> <br/>The employee puts down their phone but doesn’t respond. Their eyes flick between the two of them, as if sizing them up. Akira’s not sure what they are exactly, but they’re definitely not fully human, with their orange eyes and triangular nose. When they speak he can see their pointed teeth, the same kind he’s seen on the mer-lifeguards who work at the beaches.<br/> <br/>“Couples only,” they say flatly.<br/> <br/>Leandro’s brow furrows. “What?”<br/> <br/>The employee points at the left side of the menu on the wall behind them. The words on the square are faded, but clearly say THURSDAY NIGHTS COUPLES DISCOUNT.<br/> <br/>“Couples discount,” Leandro says. “Not exclusively couples, though, right?”<br/> <br/>“Exclusively couples,” the employee says flatly.<br/> <br/>Akira glances at Leandro, whose brow is still furrowed, though it’s different now, more intent, the kind that shows he’s thinking hard instead of just confused. Akira is pretty sure the employee’s statement is bullshit, a half-assed attempt at getting them out of the diner before the weapons dealer arrives, and he’s trying to figure out how to get around it when—<br/> <br/>“Well, it’s a good thing me and Akira here are dating, then, isn’t it?” Leandro says.  Akira’s stomach swoops. Leandro wraps an arm around Akira’s shoulders and pulls him close. He comes easily, too stunned to resist.<br/> <br/>The employee eyes them suspiciously. “You said he was your friend,” they say.<br/> <br/>“Boyfriend,” Leandro corrects, smiling winningly. “You must have misheard.”<br/> <br/>The employee stares at Leandro. Leandro stares back, his chin lifted in the way it always is when he spouts bullshit and dares the other person to contradict him, lifted in the way that makes Akira stare dumbly at him, because Leandro’s arm is warm around his shoulders and Leandro’s voice just said <em>boyfriend</em> and Leandro’s jaw looks really fucking nice from this angle and fucking hell Akira’s gotta be dreaming because there is no way he’s gonna have to pretend to be Leandro’s—boyfriend—for the next half hour—<br/> <br/>(<em>dear god</em>, his mind whispers. <em>this is worse than the fucking alien assassins</em>)<br/> <br/>“Fine,” the employee says, and Akira can hear a few displeased murmurs from the burly aliens in the booths. “Ten twenty-six.”<br/> <br/>Akira starts to reach into his pocket for his wallet, but Leandro clicks his tongue.<br/> <br/>“Don’t worry about it, babe!” he says, and Akira’s stomach swoops again. “I got it!”<br/> <br/>He drops his arm from around Akira’s shoulders and pays the employee, who tells them to take any free booth. The only free one is in the middle against the wall to the right of the counter, beneath a chintzy lamp so garishly orange it’s almost painful. As they slide in, sitting across from each other, Akira can sense every alien in the room turning their head to watch them.<br/> <br/>“Charming set of folks,” Leandro says wryly. He leans back against the red leather seat, stretching his long legs under the table. His foot taps against the side of Akira’s. “Oh—sorry—”<br/> <br/>“It’s okay,” Akira says. Out of the corner of his eye he sees one of the aliens in a booth on the opposite wall turn their body completely to stare at them. “Um—actually—”<br/> <br/>He stretches his own legs out, trapping Leandro’s leg between his feet. He feels Leandro’s little jolt, sees the redness bloom over his ears, and the swooping in his stomach shifts, melts into something smug rather than shy.<br/> <br/>“Gotta act couple-y,” Akira says.<br/> <br/>Leandro’s eyes are wide. He clears his throat.<br/> <br/>“Right,” he says. <br/> <br/>He leans one hand on the table, his fingers tapping rapidly against the diamond pattern. Akira frowns and releases Leandro’s leg.<br/> <br/>“Sorry,” he says. “If you need to do the—the jiggly leg thing, you can.”<br/> <br/>For a moment Leandro blinks at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he smiles.<br/> <br/>“Nah, mullet, I’m good,” he says, and before Akira can react he traps Akira’s leg between his own. “Though it’s sweet you remembered.”<br/> <br/>(<em>he called you sweet</em>, Akira’s mind whispers)<br/> <br/>(<em>he also called you mullet</em>, says another part of his mind. <em>don’t get lovesick yet</em>)<br/> <br/>Irritated is a lot less terrifying to deal with than lovesick, so Akira scowls, and says, “It’s not a mullet.”<br/> <br/>“It used to be,” Leandro counters. “Once a mullet, always a mullet.” His eyes roam over Akira’s hair, and he can <em>feel</em> it, feel the force of his gaze, glittering in the light from the lamp. When he speaks again he sounds softer. “Though I like it a lot more than I used to. It looks good tied up.”<br/> <br/>Heat creeps up Akira’s neck, but he ignores it.<br/> <br/>“Thank you,” he says, then, quickly, “You got a haircut while you were away, didn’t you?”<br/> <br/>“Yeah, just a touch up,” Leandro says, running a hand through the curls at the top. “Gotta keep it fresh, ya know?”<br/> <br/>Akira snorts.<br/> <br/>“Hey!” Leandro frowns. “I’ll have you know this is top notch! Done by the best barber in the city. King of undercuts.”<br/> <br/>“That’s kind of a dumb thing to be king of,” Akira says.<br/> <br/>“Says the guy with a mullet.”<br/> <br/>Akira scowls again. “It is not a <em>mullet</em>—”<br/> <br/>“Here’s ya food,” the employee interrupts, dumping a tray on the table between them.<br/> <br/>Akira blinks at the tray. On it are two glasses of milk and a plate of heart-shaped pancakes, studded with chocolate chips and drenched in thick syrup. It looks surprisingly edible; Akira hadn’t thought a front for smuggled weapons could make good food, too.<br/> <br/>“Thanks,” Leandro says.<br/> <br/>The employee grunts and walks back to the counter. Leandro releases Akira’s leg so he can sit up properly.<br/> <br/>“All right!” he says, eyeing the plate with enthusiasm. He picks up the fork, then stops. “Wait. I don’t think they gave us another fork.”<br/> <br/>“It’s okay,” Akira says. “I don’t really want to eat anyway.”<br/> <br/>“You <em>don’t want to eat</em>?” Leandro repeats, incredulous. “It’s chocolate chip pancakes! Your favorite kind!”<br/> <br/>“I’m not gonna eat pancakes at eleven at night,” Akira says flatly.<br/> <br/>“Heathen!” Leandro half shouts. An alien in the booth behind him growls; he coughs and lowers his voice. “<em>Heathen</em>,” he whispers. “Breakfast food for dinner is fantastic.”<br/> <br/>“It’s confusing,” Akira argues. “Cereal is fine cause it’s cold, but having warm breakfast food this late is just weird. It’d be like eating burgers for breakfast.”<br/> <br/>“Burgers for breakfast is completely acceptable!” Leandro says, and Akira almost laughs at how offended he sounds. “I can’t believe you’re this chained to the concept of time!” He stabs at the pancake, picking up a gooey chocolate forkful, and holds it out across the table. “Here. Try it. Throw your devotion to time to the wind.”<br/> <br/>“No,” Akira says, amused by his indignation.<br/> <br/>“Do it!” Leandro insists. “Be a maverick! Fuck time!”<br/> <br/>“No!” Akira says, laughing a little now. <br/> <br/>“It’s your favorite kind!” Leandro says again. He waves the fork in a small circle and some syrup oozes off the pancake, dripping onto the tray. “I ordered them for a fucking reason! Eat the damn pancake!”<br/> <br/>Akira laughs again, and he starts to respond, but then the words fall right out of his head, because Leandro leans forward, his elbow on the table and his cheek in his palm, his head tilted as he regards Akira.<br/> <br/>“<em>Please</em>,” he says, and it’s deep and soft and—a drawl, almost—and Akira stares at him, caught by his gaze, and he can feel heat creeping up his neck once more, can feel something curl low in his belly, can feel how suspended everything around them is, like they aren’t in a dingy diner minutes away from getting murdered by alien assassins, but on a date, a real date, and for a second he half forgets that this isn’t real, because Leandro’s eyes and face and voice are as real as can be, and Akira—<br/> <br/>—Akira has to eat the damn pancake.<br/> <br/>He leans forward and bites at the piece on the fork. Leandro smiles, something quick and crooked that shoots heat through Akira’s belly again.<br/> <br/>“Is it good?” he asks.<br/> <br/>Akira chews, swallows, lets the sweetness of the chocolate and the syrup and Leandro’s presence wash over him.<br/> <br/>“Yeah,” he says finally, smiling back. “It’s good.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading! tumblr and twitter are @laallomri, feel free to come talk. tho I barely check twitter nowadays so if you really would like a response, tumblr is the better option</p></blockquote></div></div>
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